


New To Town

by basketcasewrites



Series: Fictober 2018 [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Neighbors, Pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 13:59:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16348043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basketcasewrites/pseuds/basketcasewrites
Summary: Her name is all odd turns and strange angles sitting in the cave of his mouth. "Brunnhilde," Thor says. A roll of the r, a smile on the heavy set of n's."A bit less dramatic next time, yeah," Brunnhilde, carrying a pair of boxes as if they weigh nothing at all, says.(prompts 18 & 19 of myfictober prompts list: neighbours & family)





	New To Town

Her name is all odd turns and strange angles sitting in the cave of his mouth. "Brunnhilde," Thor says. A roll of the _r,_ a smile on the heavy set of _n'_ s.

"A bit less dramatic next time, yeah," Brunnhilde, carrying a pair of boxes as if they weigh nothing at all, says.

Her accent is a language of subtle curves that Thor can't quite place. All Bruce had told him, half-asleep from hours spent hunched over samples in his lab, was that his friend was new in town. That she could use a bit of a helping hand.

Up the small step, Thor follows Brunn into the narrow passage behind a pale purple door. She doesn't much look like she needs the help, Thor thinks, casting a curious glance around the boxes stacked in haphazard piles near the entrance.

That 'next time' is a buzz up Thor's back and across his cheeks as he drops the box near the door. "Well..." a pause as he shrugs, at a loss for words. "Welcome to the neighbourhood."

Her smile is muted. And he sees in the flash of her eyes that he has served his purpose, overstayed his welcome.

"Thanks, for the help... Thor," Brunnhilde says easily. Her hand on the edge of the door pushes it closed, edging Thor out. "I'll let Bruce know I'm grateful."

With a gentle click, the door shuts. The rustle of shifting boxes and the thud of heavy footsteps sound out behind it.

✴️

"I was rude yesterday," Brunnhilde says, in a stilted way of greeting. A cling-wrapped pie in her hands.

He yawns into the soft of his palm. Tired, he throws a glance over his shoulder at the clock hanging over his TV set.

"It's four in the morning." Thor states, with more a hint of confusion than irritation or frustration.

"I know." She meets him with a shrug, speaks. "I'm freezing off my ass, can I come in?"

The neighbour's dog is a restless creature. Its loud bark is met, almost instantly, by a cacophony of answering howls and shrieks.  
It tears at Thor's sleep-sensitive ears, begins to pound a headache at the base of his skull, at the space between his eyes.

He steps aside, allows the door to fall into place behind Brunnhilde.

"The pie," Brunn says, the words drawn out slowly, the hint of a smile on her lips. She waves it in the space between them.

The glass dish is heavy, a sure weight in his hands as he takes ahold of it. Its curves are familiar, its designs exuding inexpensive usefulness. "Mrs Darcy?" Thor queries, a quirk of his eyebrow and of the corner of his mouth.

Brunnhilde raises her shoulders in a shrug, dismissive. "I don't bake. Or cook."

"Hm," Thor hums.

The dish settles on the counter with a clatter. Cling-wrap crinkling as he pulls it apart, with a certain care Loki has always mocked him off, he breathes in the mix of fruit.

He reminds himself to keep a slice aside for his brother. Who, by the absence of his soft snores that usually blow into the passage like leaves on the wind, has not yet returned from his gallivanting; his usual terrorizing of the local clubs.

"So." Brunnhilde captures his attention. The notes in her voice is all rough edges and milk-honey smooth.

She runs the tip of her finger along the edge of the only framed picture Thor has of himself, Loki and Hela together.  
They stand with fine sand under their feet and a clear blue sky that frames them. It is the only picture from before. Before Odin's death and Frigga's move; before Loki's troubles; before Hela's imprisonment.

He doesn't know why exactly he still keeps the picture up on his mantelpiece. When nothing is the same as it once was; nothing is as normal.

"So. It's still cold and dark outside." He clears his throat. Pulls himself from his reverie and two plates from a cabinet. "You want some of this?"

The thud of a jacket hitting against the arm of a chair rings from the kitchen, echoes in the room.

Brunnhilde, folded into the seat of the couch, hums her answer. "Coffee, too."

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see how I procrastinate, shoot me some asks or just hang out, you can find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/shuriidyke)


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